


Just a Hunter

by CreepyGamerPasta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:30:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepyGamerPasta/pseuds/CreepyGamerPasta
Summary: Dean and Sam were happy to find their father and devastated to lose him. After finding Ellen and Jo’s Roadhouse, they meet up with another hunting family, one which went through almost the exact same experience as the Winchesters. The difference? The youngest of the Fournier family can relive the gruesome deaths of others and see the usually hidden supernatural. Considered a blessing and a curse, Lizette Fournier’s ability makes her an asset to other hunters but an obvious target for Azazel, who is always looking for his special children. Oh, and she might just be the end of the world or the force that saves it.Originally posted on my Quotev account as I Will Hunt You. I will only update on this though.





	1. Ashes, Ashes...

The house was quiet. Quiet, but not silent.

The children had just been put to bed, and the two other members of the Fournier family had just gone downstairs in the kitchen to talk about whatever it is that grown-ups talk about.

“Six months already! I can’t believe that our little girl is already that old!” gushed Mrs. Fournier.

“Oui,” agreed Mr. Fournier, “it is quite magnifique!”

“Not to mention that our beautiful twins are four by this time as well!”

“Oui, oui. They are quite the little ones!”

“Well, dearest, I am going upstairs to bed now,” said Mrs. Fournier.

“I will join you in a little bit, my angel,” said Mr. Fournier.

And so up went Mrs. Fournier. She walked up the steps and was almost to her room, when-

Oh! That darned mother instinct! She just had to check on her 6-month-year-old.

A fatal mistake.

She carefully opened the door and peeped inside to make sure that her baby was sleeping all right.

It is too bad that she did. She might have lived if she hadn’t.

But we all know what happened next:

Mrs. Fournier was bound by an invisible force and pushed against the nursery wall.

She was then dragged up the wall and onto the ceiling.

A gash appeared on her abdomen, and blood dripped on the baby’s carriage.

Mrs. Fournier tried to scream, but alas, she was too late, and fire engulfed her as the other members of her brood (they had been trying to sneak downstairs to grab midnight snacks) watched in horror alongside Mr. Fournier.

“You!” he yelled to the twins, “Grab your sister and run!”

The brother and sister pair ran into the nursery to rescue the youngest from the tongues of red and yellow and managed to escape into the house’s yard, coughing and choking on the smoke.

Mr. Fournier tried to grab his wife, but she was already cinders by that point. He had no choice but to run behind his children and into the crowd of people outside.

Someone had called 911 by that point, but it was too little too late.

Mrs. Fournier was dead, and her corpse was ash.

Mr. Fournier was broken for life, bent on revenge for the one who killed his wife.

The twins were scared and tearful; they could only hold their younger sister and cry.

And what of their younger sister?

She was looking toward the burning house, but not at it.

She was smiling at the woman in the white dress with singed hair tips, who smiled back sadly.


	2. Hunting Trio

Ellen Harvelle’s POV

The Roadhouse only got two types of customers: Hunters and normal people who were extremely lost.

I never forget a face. Ever.

So why was it that I was letting two Winchesters sit down and enjoy a couple beers at my saloon?

I was snapped out of my thoughts as the door slammed. A family of Hunters walked in. I sighed inwardly; it was too sad to see people join the business so young.

“Anything I can get you three?” Jo asked.

“Two beers for us, and a ginger ale for the kid,” the man said.

The “kid” looked at him indignantly. “I am not a kid! I’m only four years younger than you guys! I can drink!”

The man sighed in exasperation. “You still shouldn’t drink.”

The “kid” grumbled. “Why are you the one telling me that?”

The man looked at me again. “As I said,” he continued, “two beers and a ginger ale.”

“Jo!” I shouted. She looked up from her conversation with Dean, the older Winchester boy.

“Yes?” she asked sarcastically. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t like your tone, young lady.”

“What?” Jo said.

“Quit your idle chit-chat and get to work. Two beers and a ginger ale.”

She rolled her eyes and walked to the back to get the drinks.

“Hey, who are those guys over there?” the kid asked me.

“Other Hunters,” I said. “Sons of John Winchester.”

The man looked at me in surprise. “Did you say Winchester?” he asked in a low voice. “Yes, why?” I said.

He didn’t say anything. The woman next to him gave him a quick glance and looked back down at the counter.

Dean walked past the three in front of me. His knuckles brushed against the kid’s hair.

“Hey, Ellen, when do you think Jo’s gonna get back with the-” His words were cut short as the kid gave a piercing scream.

Dean immediately jumped back and Sam got out of his seat to see what was happening. The man and woman yelled, “Lizette!” at the same time.

The kid “Lizette” backed up to the wall. She was still screaming.

A bloody gash appeared on her stomach. She started crying too.

Her fingertips started to turn black like ash. I could smell the scent of burning hair and flesh.

Suddenly, she burst into flames.

After a few minutes, the flames disappeared.

Lizette seemed fine, but she collapsed. The man and woman ran forward. They started to shake her. “Lizette!” I heard them shout. Lizette’s head lolled back and forth, but she did not wake up.

“What the hell just happened?” shouted Dean. The man and woman stared at him.

“Look, I don’t know who it was, but you have our condolences,” said the woman.

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves,” said the man.


	3. The Fournier Siblings

Dean’s POV

“My name is Jacques Fournier. You can call me Jack,” said the guy gruffly. “That over there is my twin sister Margaux.”

“Can I call you Margot?” I asked. 

She narrowed her eyes. “You can call me Margaux, imbécile,” she said with a thick French accent. “Over zere is Lizette, my sister, my sœur.”

I glanced at Lizette. Long white hair, silver lipstick, denim jacket, tight jeans that really showed off the shape of her-

Sam snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Dean,” he said, “now is not the time.”

“Right, so I’m guessing that she usually doesn’t burst into flames?” I asked.

“Not usually,” said Jack. I raised my eyebrows. He stared right into my eyes. “Wait, you’re serious?” I asked in disbelief. He nodded gravely.

Margaux burst into tears. “Sacre bleu!” she yelled. “It is zat monster’s fault! Zat man with ze yellow eyes who torments her in her dreams! He is ze one to blame!”

“Margaux,” said Jack in a warning tone, “please watch your language.” Margaux was quiet. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” continued Jack, “Lizette is… special. If she were stronger, faster, and more experienced in the ways of the world, she would make an excellent Hunter. She has a gift-”

“A curse!” yelled Margaux. Jack glared at her. She glared back.

“A gift which allows her to see spirits of all sorts, entities which none of us could ever see, and to experience the way the dead felt.”

“She is always in pain when she uses her ‘gift’! Lizette feels ze fear, ze agony of ze dead! She has to see ze monstrosities of poltergeists and demons! How can you call zis a ‘gift,’ Jacques?” Margaux asked her brother.

“Not now, Margaux,” Jack said.

I shot Sam a quick look. We locked eyes, but he quickly looked down. He held his chin and stared off in deep thought. 

“Mags, Jack, what are you guys talking about?” 

Lizette was awake.


	4. It’s Called “Teamwork”

Ellen’s POV

While Dean and the Fourniers were talking about Lizette, I turned to Sam. “Hey, Sam, I have a case I think you might be interested in.” He looked away from the conversation the twins and his brother were having. “What’s the case?” he asked.

“Look for yourse-”

“We’ll take it. How much?” cut in Jack. I noticed that Lizette had woken up at this point.

“Five hundred dollars,” I said. He frowned. “That is not much.”

“One thousand dollars,” I said. He raised his eyebrow. “Mmm… I don’t know. Perhaps I will look elsewhere…”

Damn cocky kid. “Fine. Five thousand dollars.”

He smiled. “Good. We will take this job.” Jack took the file and shook my hand. “It is always nice doing business with you,” he said. I stared hard at his face. I’ve had to have seen this kid somewhere. But where? When? Who was he with? Fournier… I know I’ve heard that name.

But who were they?

“Unknown cause of deaths of children’s parents? And each child claims to have seen a clown after going to a circus?” asked Margaux when she saw the file. Lizette shivered. “Ugh, I hate clowns. They’re so creepy! With their painted-on smiles so you never know what they’re thinking… Can we not take this one?” she asked Jack.

“Lizette, we need the money. And some poor children are being left parentless because of this whatever-it-is. You want to help them, don’t you?” Jack said in an effort to persuade his younger sister. Lizette glared at him. “Fine.”

“Woah, woah, woah, wait. You’re not going without us,” said Dean. Jack raised his eyebrows. “No? We have the case, don’t we?” he said. “We were here first,” said Dean. The two started arguing.

Lizette and Margaux started conversing in French. I couldn’t understand all of it, but I got the gist of what they were saying. It went like this: “This is so like a pair of men.” “Oh, Maggie, I don’t think they count as men; they are no better than two high school boys!” “Shhh, Lizette, Jack will hear you.” “Good, he needs to. He should know what he is like sometimes!” With this last statement, they burst into fits of giggles.

Jack, looking behind him at the two girls, frowned. “I know you two are talking about me. Lizette, no ginger ale for you,” he said. Lizette’s jaw dropped in shock. “How could you, Jack? I thought we were siblings!” she said melodramatically. When he said nothing, she gave him a puppy-eyed look. “Please?” she asked innocently. “No,” he said firmly. He eyes got even wider. Those puppy-eyes could rival Sam’s. “Please?” she asked, getting closer to her brother. He blinked and looked away. “Lizette…” he started.

Lizette gave him the ultimate puppy-eyes that not even Sam could do. “P-please?” she begged, dropping slowly to the floor and hugging her older brother’s leg. She looked as if she were about to cry. Jack tried very hard not to make eye contact with his little sister, but to no avail.

“O-okay…” he finally relented. Immediately, Lizette’s face brightened. “Yay! Love ya big brother,” she said, giving him a bear hug. Margaux looked disdainfully at her twin. He searched her face pleadingly. “You know I can’t resist that look…” he said. Margaux shook her head and looked away.

“So,” said Sam, “we’re working together now?” “Yes,” answered Lizette.

“And I call shotgun in your Impala!” she shouted.


	5. Evil Clowns at Sunset

The five hunters made their way to a circus. They had already gotten the details about the clowns and believed the one responsible for the children’s parents’ murders to be there.

“Ugh, I hate clowns,” said Lizette. She picked a wrapper off the carnival grounds. Sam nodded. “Yeah, don’t ever tell Dean this, but I don’t like them either,” said the puppy-eyed man beside the silver-haired girl.

“I mean, the way they always wear one expression like a mask. Masks don’t bother me, but facepaint isn’t something you can just rip off and get out of. You have to scrub the stuff off, and even then, it can always stick to you. It’s like it becomes part of them, and you can’t tell if it’s true or not. It’s so creepy,” babbled Lizette. “Okay, now you’re starting to sound crazy,” said Sam.

“Sorry,” said Lizette. She looked at the ground. “I just really don’t like clowns.”

Sam awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay. There aren’t any clowns that can hurt you here. It’s broad daylight,” he said.

Lizette smiled up at him from behind a curtain of hair covering half her face. “Thanks, I appreciate it. It’s funny, but my brother would probably tell me the same thing.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a brother thing,” said Sam.

Lizette’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out and answered the call. She exchanged some words with the other person in French and looked up at Sam. “That was Mags. She and Jack want to meet with us. They think they’ve figured it out.”

“Already?” asked Sam. He was surprised. Usually, it took longer for Dean and himself to figure out a case like this. Lizette just shrugged at his confused expression. “Ever since… we’ve been hunting as more of a trio, cases have been easier. Two of us can do research or put our heads together to try to solve it, and one of us can go to the actual place. Or you know, vice-versa.”

Smart, thought Sam. They really have it down to a system. He mentally reminded himself to suggest something like that to Dean when they met up again.

The two reunited with Jacques, Margaux, and Dean at a diner down the road. “So, we believe the ‘clown’ is actually a Rakshasa. It’s a demon from Hindu beliefs. Basically, it’s been disguising itself as a clown to trick children into inviting it into their houses, so it can kill their parents and eat them,” said Jacques. Lizette shivered. “See?” she said, “Clowns are evil. You can’t trust them at all.”

Margaux frowned. “What child would let a stranger into zeir ‘ouse?” Jacques looked sadly at his research. “You would be surprised, Margaux. Many children trust so easily.”

“Imbeciles,” spat Margaux.

Jacques looked up at the harsh girl. “Margaux, that is no way to speak about other children,” he chastised. She gave him a look. “What?” she asked, “It is true, is it not?”

The brown-haired twin shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

Margaux gave a loud “hmph!” and grabbed her backpack. She turned to the Winchester boys. “I ‘ope you two ‘ave more sense zan zis foolish boy,” she said, motioning at Jacques.

“Well, I guess we’ve got a clown to cook,” said Dean.

Time Skip

“I still hate clowns,” said Lizette above Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.”

“Seriously?” asked the hazel-eyed man next to her. “You just impaled one on a brass pipe, and you’re still scared of them?”

Lizette puffed her cheeks out. “So what if I am, Dean?” she asked. Then, grinning evilly, she whispered, “Planes,” next to him. Dean’s face turned pale, but he quickly regained his composure. “Shut up,” he growled. “No,” said Lizette in a sing-song way. “Shut up!” Dean said more forcefully.

The silver-eyed girl stuck her bottom lip out childishly. “Make me,” she said.

Dean glared at her and pulled over. Lizette looked at him in confusion. “Why did you pu-”

The older Winchester brother cut the youngest Fournier off with a kiss. When he pulled away, she stared forward in shock, mouth slightly open. Dean turned back to the wheel and started up the car again.

The two drove back to the Roadhouse. Whether it was a blush or the setting sun, Lizette’s face had turned bright red. Dean could only think about how glad he was that Sam had driven back with Jack and Margaux.


End file.
